New to the BDSM scene, Chelsea seeks a Dom who will make her feel safe while fulfilling her rock star fantasy. A bodyguard fits the bill. But the sassy girl has a naughty streak and hopes to escape his protection, with the assurance from The Pleasure Club that another bodyguard will be assigned if she loses the first. Dean is the perfect match for Chelsea’s game—wily and athletic, with a nose for trouble and a firm spanking hand.
But when Chelsea runs into real trouble and Dean saves her life, she must face the masterful Dom’s stern punishment for her carelessness.
Dear Ms. Nelson,
We’re pleased to welcome you to The Pleasure Club.
As you have already signed and returned the contract and filled out all the necessary forms to ensure you receive your every wish, we will be in touch with you shortly with the details of your first Pleasure Night. Your Wish List and Pleasure Forms have been turned over to our staff of highly trained Pleasure Guardians, and they are hard at work finding your perfect match.
We will endeavor to meet your personal fantasy.
When you are contacted again, you will be given a location where your Pleasure Night will begin, and you will also be given a safe word to use should you at any time become uncomfortable. There is no shame in changing your mind. We’re here for your pleasure, and should your safe word be used, your match for the evening will cease all activity, and the game will be put on hold until a mutual agreement between you and your Pleasure Master can be reached.
We understand that you wish your Pleasure Master to play the part of a bodyguard—one you hope to escape at the first opportunity. Please be assured that if you manage to lose the first, another will be assigned, and you won’t miss out on a sexy end to your evening. Your bodyguard, however, will make it his goal to quell any escape attempts, and if he loses patience with your antics, you may well find yourself over his knee, bottom bared for spanking.
Once again, welcome to The Pleasure Club.
Please feel free to contact the office at any time should you have any questions.
The Pleasure Club Management
* * * * *
Your Pleasure Night will begin Friday the seventh at 8:00 PM at Club Revolution.
Your safe word is rock anthem.
The Pleasure Guardians
* * * * *
Chelsea Nelson took a deep breath as centipedes scampered around her insides. Butterflies in the stomach? Not this girl. She had creepy-crawly centipedes. At least that’s what it felt like: millions of tiny feet sloshing through her dinner, urging her to give it up.
The amped-up party scene at Revolution did nothing to calm her nerves. Throbbing dance floor filled with gyrating bodies, raucous laughter, couples making out, a fight or two. But this was her fantasy, she reminded herself. She was a rocker chick with a high-flying lifestyle, oodles of fans, and a shadowy stalker. That’s why she needed a bodyguard. But she suspected that the stalker was just a ploy by her manager, a scare tactic to make her toe the line. That’s why, in the scenario she’d created, she ditched her bodyguard whenever she got the chance.
That would be part of the fun of the evening, trying to escape her bodyguard. She had nothing to lose by giving him the slip because she would receive a replacement. But the warning that came along with the arrangement—the spanking? That sent a shiver through her. Perfect.
It fit right in with her interest in BDSM, an interest she’d emphasized on her Wish List. She’d hesitated at first, filling out the forms. Was she ready to jump into something as intense as BDSM without first meeting and approving the Dominant who would play her bodyguard?
She’d had a few Dom/sub experiences with guys she dated, but those hadn’t gone quite the way she’d hoped. She hadn’t felt completely safe or cared for during those encounters, and they hadn’t understood her need for mischief. One mistook her playfulness for real rebellion and came down on her hard. The other said she wasn’t a submissive, but a brat who wanted to be spanked. She’d always thought she was a submissive—well, a naughty submissive—but now she was left wondering. The Pleasure Club’s reputation for expertise and professionalism finally persuaded her to go for it…and maybe find some answers. And for her, she realized, role-playing with a stranger was part of the thrill. Those little critters scampering around in her belly were part apprehension, part excitement.
She’d been late, purposely, arriving at 8:20. She was a celebrity, after all, and it was everyone else’s place to wait on her. Right? She stifled a nervous giggle with her hand. How often did a video game artist get a chance to play a rock star? While part of her warned that it might not be a good idea to test a new Dominant with tardiness, the rest of her rejoiced in the freedom that her make-believe role allowed.
She took a seat at the bar and ordered a sparkling ginger and lemonade concoction, trying to pretend that she fit in with the crowd. At least she looked the part, wearing a slinky, shiny, black vinyl ensemble, with a low-cut halter on top and a slit-sided mini below. A glance in the mirror behind the bar showed a twenty-eight-year-old woman with impish appeal, right down to the short, tousled auburn hair and the splash of freckles across her nose. She’d never been called beautiful. Cute or perky or adorable—that’s how she rated. And somehow trouble always followed her, like she had pixie in her blood.
Within a few minutes, someone filled the empty seat beside her. “Thought I might find you here.”
She turned and drew a sharp breath. He certainly was a handsome one. Shaggy dark blond hair with a hint of stubble along a firm chin, scar high on the cheekbone, black silk shirt, and black leather pants, all of which complemented her fake lifestyle. Mid-thirties, she guessed. “Do I know you?”
“I’m your new bodyguard, Ms. Nelson. Dean Peterson. Your last one quit just today, your manager said, and he seems to think you can’t be left unattended. I have to ask you to come with me.”
She forced a frown of skepticism while her heart rate applauded her good fortune. “Nice story, Dan. How do I know you’re not the stalker my manager is so concerned about?”
“It’s Dean,” he corrected smoothly, with only the faintest narrow look. “And here are the papers from my agency.”
She flipped open the bundle and studied it closely, cutting a suspicious glance to her companion from time to time. To his credit, he didn’t fidget, and after a minute or so, a dimple formed in his cheek. Ah, good. A sense of humor. That was important, Chelsea thought. The papers said he was a cop moonlighting as a bodyguard and provided letters of recommendation, all of which could have been bogus, but the agency address was for The Pleasure Club, so she felt reassured.
“I guess you’re legit, but I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. I don’t need a bodyguard, especially not tonight. I’m here to kick back and have a good time.” She chuckled inwardly, wondering what he would do when she refused to budge from her barstool.
He frowned a very attractive frown and leaned forward in a serious manner. “That just won’t do, Ms. Nelson,” he said in a low voice. “Your stalker has been spotted in the vicinity, and your manager asked that I escort you to a protected location while the police use your body double to try to capture the man.”
Oh, he was good—quite the actor, and he picked right up on her storyline. She scoffed in disbelief. “Did my manager tell you that? You should know that he’s full of poo. He’d say anything to keep me from having fun.”
He tilted his head thoughtfully. “We had a nice long talk, and he seems perfectly reasonable to me. He also mentioned that you have a concert tomorrow, and you need to be well rested. No partying.”
“Are you my bodyguard or my babysitter?” she huffed.
Humor glinted in his eyes, quickly replaced by a stern blue-eyed stare. “Whatever works. Now if you don’t mind, we have someplace to be, and I’m to make sure you get there.” Dean stood and placed his hand under her arm, a gentlemanly gesture to outsiders, but Chelsea couldn’t mistake the steel in his grip. He practically lifted her off the barstool one-handed. Then a muscular arm circled her waist and drew her close, like taking a baby chick under his wing, and she nearly melted against him. Those feelings of safety and protection were exactly what she wanted.
She enjoyed herself for several strides and then pulled against his grip. “I’ll be right back. I have to hit the ladies’ room.”
He let her slip away. “I’ll be waiting.”
The club was located in an older building, and as Chelsea attempted a casual walk toward the women’s bathroom, she hoped she would find what she was looking for. She pushed open the door, and a thrill ran through her. At the back of the foyer, a window opened to the summer air. Edging past a few chatters, she stuck her head out and looked down. The bathroom was on the first story, but you had to walk up a short set of stairs when you entered the building to get to the first floor. So there was a bit of a drop; she couldn’t just step out the window into the alley. Nothing she couldn’t handle, though. Her time spent on the climbing wall in the gym would serve her well here.
She slung her purse strap diagonally across her chest and swung over the sill. Onlookers made surprised comments and cheered her on. She gave them a sassy grin and lowered her right foot carefully, seeking a toehold. Of course, this would all work better with bare feet instead of stilettos, she realized. She let her shoes fall to the asphalt below, hoping they weren’t too wrecked when she caught up with them.
Toehold, toehold, handhold, toehold. She edged her way down carefully, excitement bubbling in her veins. She was going to outsmart this guy, she thought with glee. Too bad she couldn’t be there to see his face when he realized she’d ducked out on him.
Just a few feet from the ground, she slipped, and her skirt snagged on a nail. She scrambled to regain her hold and managed not to fall, but her fumbling fingers couldn’t find a way to unhook the nail with the fabric now twisted around it. That exhilaration from a minute ago downshifted to uneasiness, then outright anxiety. She looked up at a group of faces staring down from the window, smiling and laughing. She couldn’t hold on forever. Was her only choice to let the skirt tear and arrive at the bottom with her ass bare? Thong panties didn’t tend to cover much.
She jumped at the voice and glanced over her shoulder. Dean suppressed a smirk, no doubt getting an eyeful of her nearly naked butt. Her stomach flip-flopped. Caught in the act!
“I’ll help you, sweetheart. Just hold on.” He leaned in and braced her legs, allowing her to rest her rear against his broad shoulder. She could feel his bunching muscles. Clearly he worked out. Fingers brushed her skin as he worked the snag, sending heat surging through her.
God, this was horrible. How could her fantastic plan go so horribly wrong? She pressed her lips against the back of her hand to stifle a groan.
“There you go. Free at last,” he said, stepping back and placing both hands on her waist to lift her down. When her feet met the ground, though, he didn’t let go, but turned her in his arms and looked into her face.
She ducked her head, refusing to meet his gaze after botching it.
He clicked his tongue and tilted up her chin to lock on to her eyes. “You are in big trouble, Ms. Nelson,” he chided, voice low and ominous.
Her heart skipped a beat. This man was tall and strong, intimidating enough to be a real bodyguard, and sexy as all get out. “How’d you know where to find me?”